


End of sweetness

by auroracoriolis



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Sex, Incest, Secret Relationship, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroracoriolis/pseuds/auroracoriolis
Summary: His restless spirit and body have found such sweet pleasure with her, and now it must come to an end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the timeline in this story is messed up because Fëanor/Fëanáro married young and thus before Findis, and they wouldn't really have had time to have this relationship, but my subconscious didn't care about that. This story arrived in my brain pretty much complete and I just had to write it down to get some peace of mind. I didn't think I'd ever write a story where (half-)siblings engage in a relationship - I didn't even think I'd ever write anything from Fëanor's point of view, he's such a difficult character - but here we are.

As he climbs up the trellis outside her window he tries to make enough noise to let her know that he is coming so that she is not startled, while keeping quiet enough that their sister in the next room won't hear.

Neither of them knows if Lalwendë has ever heard them. Findis thinks not, as she knows that that Lalwendë is a heavy sleeper, but Fëanáro has seen their younger sister looking at him, frowning like she's trying to figure out a puzzle.

All thought of Lalwendë disappears from his head when he sees Findis come to the window dressed only in a sheer nightgown. She doesn't look startled at all; she looks like she has been expecting him. And she looks utterly lovely as always.

So the first step he takes into her room is a step to take her in his arms and kiss her like she is air and light, and food and water, all that he needs. As always she melts in his arms, and she tastes sweet and feels sweeter to touch. When they discover that they cannot, in fact, be air for each other and must stop for breath, he touches his nose to her hair and breathes in the lovely scent of her.

'It's been far too long', she sighs as she runs her hands down his back and then frees his hair from the simple, messy ponytail that he tied in his hurry to come to her.

'It's your own fault', he says, but without any asperity. 'For staying with the Vanyar so long.'

She laughs at him, her lovely laugh that reminds him of the little silver bells that he made for her when she was still a little girl; she used to wear them in her hair. Absent-mindedly he wonders what happened to them.

'As if you weren't the one who's constantly away from Tirion on all sorts of traipsings', she accuses him with a smile in her voice.

'They're not traipsings, they're important travels', he protests half-earnestly.

'But of course they are. Because you are a very important person, aren't you?' She gently teases him because she knows she can, unlike almost anyone else, and she thinks it's good for him to be teased every now and then.

'I'll show exactly how important I can be', Fëanáro tries to say threateningly but collapses into laughter at his own terrible wordplay, and she laughs too, until they both find it necessary to stop laughing because they simply must do other things with their mouths, and hands, and bodies.

 

* * *

 

Later, in the dim light of Findis' room with the curtains drawn to hide them from the world and only a few candles lit, he wonders about their relationship as she lies draped across him and he lazily strokes her warm, soft hair. It's only one shade lighter than his, a very dark brown rather than black, just different enough that it can be told apart when their hair is mingled together.

He thinks about how ridiculous it is that the one of Indis' children that he even tolerates he absolutely adores.

How can the two of them, who despite their similar looks couldn't be more different, have something so very sweet together? Despite her dark hair inherited from their father, Findis is very much her mother's daughter, gentle and generous and patient, and shows little sign of having such a fire in her as he can always feel burning inside him. She delights in music and poetry, in retelling old tales in her own words and voice, whereas he is ever striving to create something new and greater, something no one has ever dreamt of before.

She is soft and yielding, both in spirit and in body, where he is hard and demanding. He realises that this difference must in fact be why their coming together is so perfect, so satisfying. She always manages to delight and arouse him by giving him all of herself. She gives him all he demands, and more, often before he has even put his desires into words. She drowns him in her generosity and her sweetness, and he is happy to be drowned and to emerge afterwards, as now, into a sense of peace and calm that he barely ever feels except with her.

'Fëanáro', she says suddenly, lifting her head so that she can look him in the eyes. 'There is something I must tell you.'

He frowns. 'I don't like the sound of that.'

She sighs, the earlier joy now absent in her. 'You will like even less what comes next.' She twines a strand of his hair around her finger until he stops her with a sudden movement of his hand.

'Just tell me.'

'A man has asked leave to court me, and I told him that he may.'

'A man', he says in a completely flat voice. He has a dreadful suspicion that he knows what kind of man it is. 'He wishes to marry you, then.'

'Yes, if we find that we suit then I expect we will marry.' She moves beside him, onto her stomach, and props herself up on her elbows. As she looks keenly at him, the principal emotion in her eyes is worry, not joy for her new suitor. She is worried about his reaction.

'We've always known that we cannot wed each other; we've talked about it, about how we expect to find someone else one day to marry and to have children with ', she says rather hurriedly, reminding him of things he knows. For they have indeed spoken of this, though not for a long time, for neither of them had met anyone they wished to marry. Until now.

'Yes, we have always agreed on that. And I'm not angry with you.' Though only their arms are touching he can feel her relax at his words, and he is ashamed of himself that he has behaved in such a way, now or ever before, as to make her afraid and nervous of him.

'It's just that I... I just wish that he wasn't Vanyar. For that's what this man of yours is, isn't it? Some Vanyar bore whom you met while you were staying with your mother's family.' First he loses his father to a Vanya, and now his sweet sister… He doesn't want her to be scared of his anger, though, so he does his best to keep calm even though his temper is about to get the better of him.

Fortunately Findis has gotten over her nervousness and is now able to handle his foul mood as she usually does, by ignoring it completely.

'Yes. He's a scholar, and he –'

Fëanáro interrupts her as fast as he can. 'Stop.' Then softer, 'Please. Don't tell me more about him. I will be able to bear it better if I hear it from someone else, like father. I expect that this courtship of yours will be public knowledge soon enough?' He knows that a princess can't even glance at a man who isn't related to her without becoming the prime source of gossip in the city.

'He will be coming to Tirion for a visit in a month's time', says Findis. In her voice are mingled joy and sorrow. 'Fëanáro, I think we shouldn't see each other after that. Not like this.'

'No. Of course not.' He lets out a bitter little laugh. 'I wonder that you let me in to your room, and your bed, even tonight. Since you have already made a connection with another man.' Then, quickly, 'I'm sorry, Findis. I didn't mean to hurt you or imply –'

'It's all right', she says, stroking his arm, once again more generous than he, with his nature, can imagine anyone being. 'I know that this must be difficult for you.'

He can't stop himself asking though he fears the answer. 'And you? Is it difficult for you?'

'It is', she replies with a sigh. 'I am... glad to be moving on to another part of my life, and to have children –', she avoids speaking of her suitor so as not to set Fëanáro off,  '– but I will miss what we have had. It has been so special, and so lovely, even if it is forbidden.'

'Yes. It has been lovely.' He takes her into his arms now and holds her tight, because he has to prove to himself that she is still here with him, still his to hold, at this moment. Then he gathers what generosity of spirit he has, for her sake. For as amazing as it is, he wants her to find lasting happiness even if it hurts him for a time, and he wants to let her know that he doesn't begrudge her the new joy she has found. So he whispers into her hair, 'You will make a wonderful mother.'

'Oh, Fëanáro', she sighs against his collarbone. 'Thank you.'

He asks, because he has to know so that he can prepare himself for what is to come. 'Was this the last time?'

'I don't know. Perhaps it should be. Would it be easier for you? To have made love for the last time without knowing it was the last, without worries.'

It probably would be easier, he thought. Then again, he never does the easy thing. And he wants to have her again, to savour her and take her slowly as he hadn't had the patience to do today when they met for the first time after a long time apart.

'What about you?' he asks. 'What do you want?'

'I think I would like to enjoy what we have a few times more', she says quietly, shy even after all they've done together, after all these times. She is never shy in giving him what he wants, but sometimes she finds it hard to speak of her own desires. 'Just for the next couple of weeks.'

'Then we shall', he says and raises her up until they are looking at each other again. 'It's all right, little sister. We shall have those few times together, and then you will be happy, and I will be all right.'

As he speaks she can see that the last thing he says he finds harder to believe than the rest. She wants to reassure him, so she tells him, 'Yes. You are strong; of course you will be fine.'

He knows she says that to make him better, and he sees compassion and a little bit of pity in her eyes, pity for him because he hasn't yet found anyone to share his life with while she has, and only because it's her the pity doesn't make his blood seethe. Only with her, who has taught him much about loving someone, he understands that pity can be a form of love.

He sees in her eyes also a strength that in addition to her new love makes her able to accept that this part of their lives is about to be over. He realises something, and the realisation is like a flash of lightning before his eyes, illuminating everything in a strange light. For what he realises is that she isn't as soft and weak in spirit as he's always thought. She's more resilient than he is; perhaps the yielding nature of her _fëa_ makes it easier for her to accept change and loss and move on, whereas his fights to hold on to whatever it has once deemed precious, even when it is already lost to him.

Thus he knows that it will be a hard thing indeed to watch her marry another, but he will do it without complaint. She has shown him such generosity and love, and he will show his love for her by letting her go.

**Author's Note:**

>  _fëa_ =spirit/soul.


End file.
